


The Others

by applejackcat



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Anti-CS, Anti-Hook, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:43:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applejackcat/pseuds/applejackcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark Ones make the worst wingmen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr in response to snafu-moofin’s query, “So when do we get a Dark One orgy fic where they all compete to please Belle because she is sunshine,” and junoinferno’s addendum, “Wait, no, this makes sense, all the voices of the Dark Ones in Rumple’s head while he’s trying to have sex with his wife…And suddenly killing you know who does not seem so bad.”

Three hundred years on, the Others mostly left Rumplestiltskin to his own devices. More often than not, he sensed their presence in his gut-wrenching loneliness or the loathing that flooded him whenever he looked in the mirror. Then he dealt for the Maid, and the whole bleeding lot of them encamped themselves in the Great Hall.

The Others hungered for her in ways that drove Rumplestiltskin to distraction. Zoso rhapsodized about the blueness of her eyes and the creaminess of her skin. Nimue wanted to know the color of her nipples. When the Maid bent over the dust a shelf, the boar threw itself to the ground and writhed with piggish glee.

Rumplestiltskin hated how they simpered over her. The Maid could not draw breath without sending the Others into a frenzy of lewd comments and – almost worst – declarations of undying loyalty. But if Rumplestiltskin thought he would find peace by leaving the Dark Castle to deal elsewhere, he was sorely mistaken.

The Others threw a fit when Rumplestiltskin took them to Camelot.  

“Belle, Belle, Belle, Belle!” chanted the hunched old woman who’d taken the dagger after Nimue. “Sweet Belle. Good Belle.”

The pig ran in circles, butting against Zoso and the wraithlike creature who never spoke but managed to communicate disquietingly detailed thoughts through eye contact alone.

“Our Belle misses us,” sighed Nimue. “And we miss her.” 

“She means us, by the way,” growled the hulking man who’d taken the dagger sometime between the wraith and Zoso. “Nobody ever misses you, Rumple Bumple.”

* * *

_Time passes_

Rumplestiltskin lay abed and tried desperately to ignore his aching erection. Whenever he wanked – and, to date, the longest he’d held out was five hours and thirteen minutes – the Others  _knew_  that he was thinking about Belle.

And they would whisper the filthiest, basest suggestions to him.

“Belle has such a pretty pink tongue,” the hunched old woman would cackle. “Imagine that pretty pink tongue tracing its way up your shaft.”

The hulking man’s laugh would send vibrations shooting through Rumplestiltskin. “She could take your bollocks in her mouth and hum. A woman does that to a man, and it hits him in places he didn’t know he had.”

“Do you wonder what it’d be like to bury your face between her thighs?” Nimue would murmur silkily. “Belle must taste  _divine_.”

Rumplestiltskin’s balls ached, and he had no idea why. Belle’s hand had brushed against him when she handed him his afternoon tea; he’d dismissed himself and masturbated furiously in a nearby broom closet while the wraithlike creature watched him creepily. That’d been less than three hours ago. How could he be so aroused again so quickly?

A cheer went up in his bedchamber as Rumplestiltskin gave in and took himself in hand. He managed to cum within moments even as the boar rutted against his favorite pillow.

* * *

_More time passes_

“I know why he hates us,” Zoso said.

“It’s so obvious,” Nimue agreed.

“I sussed out the reason the night she moved into the castle,” the old woman declared.

From the hulking man Rumplestiltskin heard only laughter. Damn them all. He rushed from his tower lookout, eager to be seated at his spinning wheel by the time Belle returned to him. For she  _had_  returned to him, even after he’d released her from her contract!

Zoso waited by the wheel, and when Belle entered the Great Hall, he almost looked sad. “You hate us because we are you,” he said. “We haven’t said a thing you haven’t felt or thought before us. We know you, Rumplestiltskin, and we speak your truths.”

“And your greatest truth,” Nimue continued, appearing beside her successor, “is that you are despicable, Rumplestiltskin. You are a  _monster_.  _A beast_.”

“Belle will never love you,” the hunched old woman spat, “and if she knew how you felt about her, she’d dash her own heart and throw herself into the fire.”

The Others left him then. Moments later, when Belle kissed Rumplestiltskin, he threw her love for him to the floor and ground it under his boot heel. He cursed her and frightened her and he cast her out. And he had no one to blame but himself.

* * *

_Thirty-odd years later_

“I would like to make a request,” Rumplestiltskin said quietly. “Hear me out, please.”

The Others tittered. “We’re listening,” Nimue replied cautiously.

“I would like you all to respect my privacy –”

The hulking man bellowed. “He doesn’t want us to watch them anymore!”

“Of course I bloody don’t want you watching while I make love to Belle!” snarled Rumplestiltskin. “And don’t you  _dare_  act as if watching’s all you do.” He pointed accusingly at the hunched old woman. “Your suggestions are both unwelcome  _and_  physically impossible.”

The hunched old woman huffed. “Really, Rumplestiltskin, if you’d only take up yoga! You’d be amazed what positions you could manage.”

Rumplestiltskin rounded on the boar. “I cannot –  _finish_  – when you begin to rut against Zoso’s leg!”

“You know, I’d appreciate if that’d stop, too,” Zoso admitted. “But I don’t see why this means we have to make ourselves scarce.” 

“We love her too,” Nimue sighed. “We are you, after all.”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. “No, you’re not. Not any more. I’m a changed man. For Belle’s sake, for my boy’s.”

The wraithlike creature smirked, and its expression planted in Rumplestiltskin a seed of worrying doubt.

“Rumple? Did you say something?” The door to the bedroom opened, and a creamy bare leg appeared, stretching suggestively while its owner remained hidden.

“No, my darling Belle,” Rumplestiltskin replied. “It’s just you and me.”

“For now,” Nimue muttered before disappearing.

The Others followed suit. But Zoso wanted the last word.

“You always have a choice,” he told Rumplestiltskin. “And you always make the wrong ones. Especially where Belle is concerned.”

Belle saw Rumplestiltskin’s smile flicker as she stepped into the room, dressed in a daring pale pink camisole. Her hands went to her breasts to cover her puckered nipples.

“Oh, gods, it’s too much, isn’t it?” Belle loved the new world’s fashion but still struggled against feeling immodest.

Rumplestiltskin banished his demons and focused his attention on his true love. “You’re beautiful, Belle. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

Belle’s beaming expression stole his breath. His cock throbbed for her. “And you’re mine. We belong together, Rumple.”

 _For now_ , echoed Nimue’s admonishment as Rumplestiltskin made love to Belle that night.  _For now_.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_A continuation_

Three centuries engrained habits on a bone-deep level. The Dark Ones craved their freedom and their power with an intensity that frightened Emma, because the line between their wants and hers grew murkier by the hour.

Then they caught sight of Belle in a form-fitting, shoulder-baring green gown, and the whole lot of them turned into a pack of horny, lovesick fools.

“We used to spend hours worshipping her with our mouths against her slick, sweet puss,” murmured a hulking man dreamily.

Emma blanched at the frankness with which the Dark Ones described their longing for Belle. It became nearly impossible to prowl around Arthur’s castle, for a surprise encounter with Belle would derail the entire afternoon. The boar’s outbursts alone gave Emma splitting headaches, to say nothing of the bawdry suggestions the hunched old woman made.

To make matters more unbearable, the Dark Ones despised her own true love. Killian’s approach invariably set off a cacophony of hisses and snarls. Confusingly, Emma sometimes felt pulled to join them.

“Belle has a scar just below one delicate shoulder,” Nimue explained. “Smaller than a quarter. Made by a bullet. We’ve kissed that scar a million times, and we’ve cursed the pirate ten times as often for causing it.”

Potent rage, not entirely her own, coiled in Emma’s gut for a for a flicker of a moment before disappearing just as suddenly. “You cursed  _my_  pirate more often than you comforted Belle,” she observed, the words bitter and heavy in her mouth.

Nimue offered her a dangerous, glittering grin. "We’re the Dark One, Emma. Did you expect us to be paragons of selflessness?" 

Again, Emma felt the anger bubble up within her and burn. This time, the feeling didn’t fade. Her fury over the wrong done to Belle grew and mingled with her own hurts, tethering together in ways which Emma would never be able to break.

“He hit her, Emma. Did you know that? Did you know your Killian,  _the roguish hero_ , hit Belle so hard that she lost consciousness?” Nimue spoke softly, but Emma knew she felt it too: an anger that bordered on the unfathomable, something that went beyond what a mere person could endure. 

Nimue continued, “She wouldn’t have screamed, Emma. Because that’s where your darling hit her, you understand: in the tower where Regina imprisoned her, before casting the curse. And because Regina kept her in chains, Belle presented no other threat to him. Do you think he punched her because he has a bit of the darkness in him, too, Emma?” 

Emma shook her head. She knew better than to fight the anger, but she would not allow Nimue to disparage Killian. “That was in the past,” she protested. “It’s inexcusable, what he did –”

“You and your kin have excused him plenty,” muttered the hulking man. “So much so that when people call him a hero, he believes it.”

Emma whirled to face this new intruder. “Killian  _is_  a hero! He’s changed so much since then. That’s all in the  _past_.”

“Not for Belle,” the hunched old woman croaked. “We’ve comforted her so many times over the pain your lover wrought.”

Magic crackled threateningly beneath Emma’s skin. She sensed that the Dark Ones wanted to provoke a reaction from her; they were dangerously close to succeeding. “Belle forgave Killian! They’re  _friends_  now!” 

From the corner of the room, Zoso chuckled darkly. “If Belle didn’t socialize with people who’d wronged her, she’d only be able to keep company with your son.”

“The two of you are so alike,” Nimue told her. “Everyone you’ve loved has let you down.”

“Except Henry,” Emma spat back, remembering what Zoso had said only moments before.

“It’s only a matter of time before he disappoints you too. What if he finds out that you exerted your influence over Violet?” Nimue replied. 

“Maybe you and Captain Lots of Leather  _are_ well suited,” Zoso suggested.

Emma had no idea what she would have done if Belle hadn’t found her then. One moment, her anger threatened to manifest itself through her magic. The next morning the door to her chamber edged open, and the other woman stuck her head into the room.

“Emma?” asked Belle sweetly. “Are you all right? I heard you screaming.”

The Dark Ones had used Emma as a talisman for their rage, and something must still have connected them, because when Belle stepped into her chamber Emma’s anger shook lose. A stunned awe replaced it as more pairs of eyes than her own drank in Belle’s appearance. Even Nimue abandoned whatever plot she’d concocted and stared longingly at the woman who Emma suspected she cared for as much as Merlin. 

“Emma? Would you like me to find your parents or – Killian?” 

Before, Emma might not have caught the hitch in Belle’s voice when she spoke Killian’s name. Even now she wondered if she’d actually heard the hesitation. Emma considered herself an excellent reader of people, but maybe that talent only extended to the people whom she loved. She knew so little of Belle, mostly what she’d gleaned from others.

“She’s waiting for you to respond,” Zoso told her.

Emma startled. “Belle!” she exclaimed forcefully.

Belle looked even more concerned by Emma’s reaction to her. “I’ll go fetch David and Mary Margaret,” she decided.

“No, please!” Emma grabbed Belle’s wrist. Instead of flinching away, Belle covered Emma’s hand with her own. “Would you stay with me for a moment?” Emma asked her.

Belle smiled and nodded. “Of course. I could help you with –” She gestured towards Emma’s discarded dream catchers.

“No. That’s all right. I just – I don’t want to be alone right now.” 

Belle cocked her head. “Rumple used to tell me that.” She paused. “He used to enjoy it when I read to him. Would you like that too?”

“Say yes,” the hulking man begged. “We love when she reads to us.”

“Do you have a book?” Emma asked.

Belle blushed. Emma startled herself by wondering if the apples of her cheeks tasted like spun sugar. Just another one of the Dark Ones’ gifts, she supposed. 

Belle’s hands went to a fold in her skirt, and she produced a small book. “I sewed myself some pockets when we arrived,” she explained. “The best dresses have pockets.”

“I don’t wear many dresses back home,” Emma said. “I’m not much of a princess.”

“No, but I think you’re something better,” Belle told her in reply. “Even the kindest princesses can’t help but think of everyone as if they’ve had the same advantages as them. When you grow up in a palace and have servants to wait on your every whim, it can be difficult to remember that some of your subjects perform back breaking labor all day and still don’t have enough to feed themselves.”

“Princesses like my mother?”

Belle laughed. “Oh, maybe. But I was mostly talking about myself.”

“You were a  _princess_?” Emma asked.

“In the kingdom where my father ruled, I was as good as one,” Belle told her. When Emma continued to gaze at her curiously, Belle continued, “I don’t think I ever appreciated, until he was gone, the struggles Rumple faced growing up.”

“I struggled growing up. That’s no excuse for the crimes he’s committed.” Emma hadn’t intended her tone to be so sharp. 

Belle’s eyes flashed. “Funny, I don’t remember saying Rumple’s difficult childhood excused his actions.”

“Did we mention how feisty she can be, when someone insults her Rumple Bumple?” asked the hulking man saucily. Other Dark Ones chuckled knowingly.

Emma closed her eyes. Belle’s presence muted their influence over her, but they remained, barely out of sight, hungering for the other woman. “I’m sorry Belle. That wasn’t kind of me.” Belle considered her for a moment. It unnerved Emma to wonder how the other woman thought of her. She knew little enough of Belle to make an educated guess. 

“What I meant,” Belle said at last, “was that when Rumple refused to give up his magic, I thought he refused because he didn’t believe I would love him without it. And while that’s true, I also ignored how growing up as a poor outcast shaped his need for power. Magic is the only way he’d ever been able to stop people from hurting him and the ones he loved. I understand that now. And I wish I could tell him that. I think we’d have a more honest conversation.”

Emma frowned. “Do you want to take him back?”

Belle shrugged her shoulders. It reminded Emma that Belle bore a scar below one delicate blade. A gift from the man she’d fallen in love with, a man into whose opened arms she would still run. 

“I want to talk with him. I want him to find peace. Beyond that, I don’t know what’s possible.” Belle met Emma’s eyes and did not allow her gaze to waver. “If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t have banished him.” The set of her jaw implied that she would put up a fight if Emma disagreed with her.

“What’s the title of your book?” Emma asked. 

The smile that spread across Belle’s face could only be described as radiant. She appreciated the change in subject and the invitation to discuss one of her books. “It’s a romance,” she admitted shyly. “I ordered it off of Amazon.” Belle grinned. “Rumple let me do  _a lot_  of online shopping.”

Emma couldn’t help but smile back at Belle. The other woman’s charm was as infectious as it was undeniable. No one the Dark Ones panted after her. “And the book’s called?” 

“ _Her Handsome Hero_.”

“Oh, wonderful!” crowed the hunched old woman, who now stood behind Belle. “This one has themost delightful smut.” 

As Belle began to read and the Dark Ones settled down to listen to her, Emma began to recognize Belle for what she was:  _a light to keep the darkness at bay_. Deeper down, in the place where the anger had been contained, she also thought,  _She might prove to be a useful pawn, as well_. 

* * *

_And a little bit more_

“Rumplestiltskin, we need to talk.” 

The hand that’d been straightening his tie froze. Rumplestiltskin could not see anyone behind him in the mirror, but he would recognize that silky voice anywhere. 

“I thought we’d finished with each other,” he said as he turned to face Nimue. Zoso and the hunched old woman stood behind her. Gods be praised, they’d left the boar at home. 

“We have, for the most part,” snickered the hunched old woman. “But we wanted to bring a gift.”

“We hear you’re a hero now, Rumplestiltskin.” Zoso seemed amused. “We thought a gift would be appropriate.” 

“The greatest gift you could give me is your instantaneous and everlasting departure from my life,” Rumplestiltskin growled. 

Nimue rolled her eyes. “Done and done. Believe me, we’d all grown overly tired of your crying jags.”

Rumplestiltskin sniffed. “I missed Belle,” he explained, referring to the hellacious period when he’d returned to Storybrooke with the Queens of Darkness but had not been welcome in Belle’s presence or her bed. 

“We miss her too,” the hunched old woman admitted.

“The pirate bathes in cologne and applies his eyeliner like he’s painting by numbers,” Zoso griped. 

“You said you had a gift?” Rumplestiltskin inquired. Belle would be over to the shop, where he’d been living, soon. If she arrived while the Others continued to pay him a visit, he would never be rid of them. 

“Of course,” Nimue said. She produced a simple porcelain teacup a few shades lighter blue than Belle’s eyes. Not the chipped cup which he’d broken to save his own skin, but Rumplestiltskin recognized a memory talisman when he saw one. “Consider it our parting gift as well.” 

She tossed it to him.

“I don’t have magic anymore,” Rumple reminded them after he’d caught the teacup. “If this contains a memory, it’s useless to me.”

Nimue smiled wolfishly. “That’s right. Your plain old Rumplestiltskin again.”

“If I was plain old Rumplestiltskin, I wouldn’t be able to see you,” he snapped.

“Then perhaps you’ll be able to work it out after all,” Zoso retorted. 

They left then, but Rumplestiltskin found it impossible to return to grooming himself. He waved his hand over the teacup experimentally and felt like a complete jackass when nothing happened. He snarled angrily. Belle could arrive any moment, and he wanted to look as close to perfect as possible when she did. He doubted they would do much more than walk through Storybrooke together, but he valued her company more than anything in existence, and here he was, wasting time –

The teacup leapt in his hand as soon as he thought of his love for Belle. Suddenly, a memory began to play within it. Belle, stunning in a daring off-the-shoulder gown, laughing.

“Oh, Emma, I can’t!” memory-Belle protested, covering her mouth with her hand. 

“But we’ve finally reached the best part,” memory-Emma teased.

They were an unfamiliar room, decorated in the style of the Enchanted Forest.  _Camelot_.

“Emma, really, I can tell you what happened!” 

“Why tell me when you can show me?” memory-Emma asked, her voice dropping huskily.

“What?” Memory-Belle cocked her head, clearly confused. 

Rumplestiltskin groaned, and not just because he recognized the steamy romance book in Belle’s hand. He knew Emma wouldn’t normally come on to Belle. He couldn’t see them, but he was willing to bet memory-Emma had a regular peanut gallery whispering lewd suggestions in her ear.

“Show me, Belle.  _With your words_.” 

Memory-Belle bit her lip. She looked deliciously naughty. Rumplestiltskin began to understand the nature of the Others’ gift. “Are you sure it won’t make you – uncomfortable?” memory-Belle asked conspiratorially.

“Of course not!” memory-Emma declared. “We’re both grown women. This isn’t anything we haven’t heard of before.”

Memory-Belle snorted. “You’d be surprised,” she told memory-Emma. “This book gave Rumple and me a new ideas.” Now her voice had become low and melodic. Rumplestiltskin could not help himself: he became hard. 

“Such as?”

Memory-Belle shot Emma a saucy look and resumed reading. “Marcella burrowed down below the covers while her tawny husband slept on. Alexander never wore his undergarments to bed, which made it easy to slip the head of his cock into her mouth.” Memory-Belle buried her face in the book. “Emma, you don’t really want me to read this!”

“You worry so much about what others want,” memory-Emma purred. Rumplestiltskin knew the Others must have pushed her to this point. She might think she had the upper hand with them, but when it came to Belle, the Others were insatiable and relentless. “You’re enjoying yourself, Belle. Don’t stop.”

Memory-Belle shook her head disbelievingly but continued to read. “Alexander’s flesh twitched betwixt her lips. It would please him, Marcella knew, to awake and find her pink petal lips wrapped around his shaft.”

Rumplestiltskin’s hands went to his belt buckle. Of all the erotic couplings in _Her Handsome Hero_ , this one affected him the most. Belle, the real one, had insisted upon repeating Marcella’s explorations as soon as she’d finished reading the scene aloud to him for the first time. 

“She allowed her tongue to trace across his glans. Marcella felt Alexander shudder.” 

Rumplestiltskin undid his trousers next and let them pool around his ankles. He put the hoop on the counter and continued to watch memory-Belle in her skintight gown as she read about a truly spectacular blowjob. 

“Marcella had been practicing for long hours, and Alexander’s cock slid down her throat with more ease than it ever had before. She knew her husband had awoken by now: he’d thrown off the comforter to watch her head bob up and down. He cursed lustily and called her a million beautiful names: precious beloved, his dearest darling, the most brilliant woman who ever walked the earth.”

Rumplestiltskin’s fist closed over his own cock, and he could not express a few choice expletives of his own. He’d neglected this part of himself for some time, and he’d forgotten how sensitive he could be. Belle loved that about them (or she had, once upon a time): that she could make his body quake by planting gentle kisses up and down his shaft.

“Alexander came with a roar, but Marcella knew better than to stop sucking him. She swallowed his seed and moaned happily, the vibrations intensifying Alexander’s orgasm. Even when he trembled and jerked, his cries reaching an even more fevered pitch than seconds before, she continued to lick and nip at his sensitive flesh.”

Crying out, Rumplestiltskin’s hand pumped up and down his cock, picking up speed. He imagined Belle’s lips on his penis, drawing out his pleasure to his breaking point. He remembered the proud gleam in her eye the first time they’d tried this together: the sheer joy she derived from making him feel good had turned him into jelly for her to mold. 

“Alexander’s body drew taut as his wife continued to fellate him. Marcella could not help but take him deeper when she felt him begin to harden again. He broke through his discomfort and arrived at a plateau of such intense pleasure that he could not even cry out anymore. He remained there, eyes jammed shut, the only sound in those of Marcella’s frantic slurps. When he came the second time, Alexander thought he would unravel. Only Maria’s hot, wet mouth anchored him to his body.”

Rumplestiltskin knew that Marcella’s and Alexander’s interlude continued for several more pages, but memory-Belle trailed off. Her flush had spread downwards, to the top of her breasts. Rumplestiltskin struggled to focus on his mirage wife, but memory-Belle made it difficult, the way her eyes fluttered shut and her tongue wetted her lips. He knew those telltale signs so well: memory-Belle had been incredibly aroused. 

“Oh, Belle,” Rumplestiltskin groaned as he climaxed. He wished she’d been there so he could have kissed those wonderful breasts and worshipped her the way Alexander did Marcella. 

“Will you excuse me, Emma?” memory-Belle asked shakily. “I think – a walk. I need to go for a walk.” The way she rubbed her thighs together implied that the only place she’d be walking was her own bedchamber.

“Of course, Belle,” memory-Emma said. “Thank you. For reading to me.”

Memory-Belle swept from the room just as real Belle entered the pawnshop. “Rumple?” Belle called. “Are you ready?”

 _No_ , thought Rumple as he wiped himself off on a rag and hastily stuffed himself back into his pants. He was most certainly not ready. Belle entered the backroom. She hesitated when she saw him buckling his pants; she could recognize Rumplestiltskin’s arousal just as easily as he could hers. 

“Were you thinking of me?” Belle asked at last, almost shyly.

“There’s no one but you, Belle,” Rumplestiltskin told her earnestly. “You’re all I see when I close my eyes.”

Belle made a happy humming noise. “Would you still like to go for a walk?” she asked him. 

They’d been meeting this way for several weeks, slowly finding their way back to each other as the rest of the town ran in circles trying to discover Emma’s plan. Rumplestiltskin treasured every moment he spent with Belle: the long nights they’d spent apologizing and talking, the small adventures in which they felt like any other couple on a date.

“Of course,” Rumplestiltskin told his wife.

Belle bit her lip. She flushed, her cheeks and places below. “Because we don’t have to go for a walk,” she told him. “We could stay here.” 

Rumplestiltskin followed her gaze to the cot on which he’d been sleeping. When he turned to face Belle again, the hopefulness in her smile stole his breath. “I would like that more than anything,” he replied. 

He closed the distance between them, and for the first time in what felt like centuries, he kissed his true love. Their hands froze at their sides, hyper aware of the other’s body, their lips the only parts of their bodies touching. It lent the moment a staggering sensuality.

When Belle broke the kiss, she wore a drunken sort of grin. “I’ve wanted to do that for some time,” she admitted, “but the Charmings always interrupted us.” 

“What a rude way to as a couple for their help,” Rumplestiltskin snorted. “They will get quite an eye full if they barge in now.”

Belle pouted, and Rumplestiltskin’s heart lurched for a moment as he worried he’d broken the sexual tension between them. But his wonderful, demon-taming wife surprised him again. “How can they get an eyeful, Rumple, when we’re both still clothed?” she asked, all mock innocence. 

“Point well made, my darling Belle,” Rumplestiltskin agreed. “And I’ll remedy that situation just as soon as I close the curtains.” 

Belle thought she saw her husband smirk when he whipped the curtains closed, but as she could not see the three cloaked figures standing in the alleyway, she could not imagine why.


End file.
